


Distracting

by kitausuret



Series: Kinktober 2018 [9]
Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, Venom (Comics)
Genre: Eddie being an Ass, Flash being Embarrassed, Flirting, Gym rats, Jocks Flirting, Kinktober, M/M, Muscle Worship, So much flirting, Sthenolagnia, Venom being Helpful, if i got anything wrong i'm sorry it's been a while since i was in a weight room, not explicit, part of a larger work, this is it guys this is the ship, working out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-07-29 19:03:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16270436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitausuret/pseuds/kitausuret
Summary: Flash Thompson just wants to get his workout in, but Eddie Brock is a few meters away in the weight room, existing and everything. Who let him have those biceps? Those glutes? It's distracting and he needs to stop.(Set within the timeline ofDust to Dust)(Kinktober Day 9: Muscle Worship)





	Distracting

**Author's Note:**

> Just some boys being dumb. Silly jocks. Silly, flirting, muscular, blond jocks.  
> And a noodle.
> 
> (Dedicated to Ama, who came up with the ship name alongside me.)

Flash Thompson was pretty good at staying in the zone during workouts. He’d been going to this gym for a few years now, knew the staff, knew his personal trainer he saw every week, had a routine, and he didn’t gaze, because that was rude and intrusive. Everyone was there for different reasons, but the unspoken rule existed that you don’t watch others (unless you’re getting hints on perfect form). Don’t look at anyone weird in the locker room.

Mind your own business. Anyone who’d lived around here more than a week knew that.

But it was pretty hard to not steal glances when the man he was sleeping with was putting yet another weight on the Smith machine.

He gave himself a mental shake and turned around to move the pin down twenty more pounds on the fly press. Flash made a note of it in his exercise log (doctor’s orders, of course) and started on his next set. He turned his eyes towards the ceiling - that hole was patched up now, good - but he could still see Eddie Brock take the bar off the hooks and squat; still saw his thick brow just a little bit furrowed in concentration and _just how much was he squatting?_ and proceeded to completely lose count of his own reps.

God damnit.

Six? Seven? He cursed himself and let the bars go, rolling his shoulders. It had been bad enough watching the guy stretch during warm-ups, which Eddie sometimes lent a hand with (he wasn’t a _total_ asshole), particularly when Flash needed to get back up on his prostheses. If anything, Eddie was _nicer_ to him when they were at the gym together, and Flash suspected that had little to do with Venom and more to do with Eddie feeling back in his element. Eddie treated time at the gym the way he treated his work: with total focus and nothing less than one-hundred-percent.

Flash stretched his arms over his head and gripped the bars one more time, vowing to himself that he would _focus_ on this and definitely not look over to see Eddie squatting with perfect form, the slight strain in his thigh muscles, workout shorts that looked a little shorter than most modern designs but damn if they didn’t make his ass look fantastic--

His hand slipped out of the grip, and then the other did, and there was a sharp _clang_ as weights on the machine collapsed. He froze as Eddie’s eyes met his and Flash immediately moved to stand and wipe off the machine. He heard a _click click_ of the bar being set back up on the Smith, followed by weights being removed and returned to the racks, and then that sixth sense of his old partner nearby. Flash busied himself resetting the key in the weights before looking over his shoulder.

“Oh, hey Brock. Pretty, uh, pretty good form on the Smith machine there.”

He tilted his head and threw his towel over his shoulder. “You all right, Thompson? Not like you to drop the weights like that.”

“Hands are sweaty. It’s warm in here.” Flash dried them off and looked up the couple inches that separated them.

Eddie braced a hand on the equipment with a sly smile, leaning a little too closely for the gesture to be passed off as purely platonic. But as the rule went: mind your own business. Everyone else in the weight room continued on as usual, the sound of the nearby treadmills and soft clanks of weights drowning out what Eddie said next:

“Or maybe my other let it slip that you kept watching me do my sets, golden boy.”

Flash masked the embarrassment with annoyance. “ _Venom!_ ”

“Don’t get your jockstrap in a twist.” He grinned and picked up Flash’s workout log, scanning it for blanks. “Come on, I’ll spot you at the bench. You got a nice chest and I don’t want to see it get crushed when the bar falls on you.”

“ _Ass_.”

“Got a nice one of those, too. I told your physical therapist as much.”

“You did _not!_ ”

Eddie laughed and winked, letting Flash lean on him for a moment to retrieve his cane. He lowered his voice to an even softer murmur and said into his ear, “Think what we’re doing three times a week counts? Doing wonders for Venom. You seem to wake up pretty happy, too.”

“Can it,” Flash growled, “or I’ll end up throwing that twenty-kilo bar at you.”

“Am I wrong, Flash?”

He rolled his eyes and headed over to the bench. Eddie set Flash’s cane aside and picked up a seventy-five pound weight. Flash laid back, letting himself admire for a moment the view of Eddie’s triceps. Once the weights were secure, he took the bar in his hands and looked at Eddie upside-down.

“No. You’re not wrong.”


End file.
